Watch
by Tillymint
Summary: He watches her, she him. They hide and dance delaying the inevitable: unable to stay closed, they must face the world, the watch. Set in England. Canon couples. AH.
1. Chapter 1

He watches.

She walks.

**~W~**

He notices details this time. She is tired but her feet move with frustrated determination, her shoulders slump slightly. A large bright blue bag pulls at her hand to imbalance her walk. The rain soon whispers down and she skips up to the pavement, hurrying. She falls easily into the landscape, merging into the background of the small row of shops. The hood of her long khaki army jacket sheltering her from others as she pulls on the red, worn shelves of the wool jumper that peeks below the dull green. Her black skinny jeans stop with hugging thick socks and trusted black converse. Quietly beautiful, she remains consistently captivating in the callous weather.

He retreats slowly as she enters the laundrette, the warm buzz soothing her rushing mind. A pound coin glistens as she drops it in, pressing buttons , tying a knot across IKEA handles and checking her phone for the time. Keeping it in her hand, she knocks the top corner to her lips and swiftly turns. The sudden action makes his breath catch and he darts out of sight, crouching below the window, knocking over a bin lid in his haste. She moves towards the door and to the direction of the fruit and veg shop. He climbs over to another window and peers through slowly, recognising the absurdity of his actions but being unable to stop.

**~W~**

He curses as his feet trip over a can, his instinct causing words to spurt out in fuming whispers from his lips. His eyes roam but she doesn't realise, still fumbling with too many books under her arm. She is dressed in work clothes this time, uniformly smart and still, he thinks, still herself. She searches her bag for keys. She sets the books on the floor, placing an unfinished water bottle and library receipts on top as the pen in her hair sways but doesn't give up. Her car beeps farewell and she enters the porch, clutching her belongings and dipping to collect the post. The pen is tugged at, free from duty and her long brown hair falls down in fragile curves. He hears her speak, then giggle, before she drops her bag and runs up the stairs. He waits.

**~W~**

Her laugh is loud. Exaggerated. Swollen with drink. Her heels tap against the frozen path, wobbling and dainty as she links arms with the girl to her left. He knows her but not the other one. A project for tomorrow. Shushes are exchanged with muffled giggles, and he finds his mouth smiling. He instantly drops the involuntary action; it won't get him anywhere.

The trio round the corner. He moves within the darkness reaching their destination assuredly like ice melting in a summer drink. He watches. She walks ahead. She concentrates on reaching for keys. The two following familiarly behind her into the house, her home.

The lights turn off late and he exhales purposefully, relishing the relief. Tentative footsteps interrupt his reprieve, "Sir?" a voice hesitates.

"Yes." He snaps. "I know"

**~W~**

The ice continues to form, dutifully clinging and suppressing. She steps out early, slowly, fidgeting with darting eyes. He shrinks to shelter. Soon her feet drum against the frost: fighting, moving, running. He doesn't follow this time. Instinct tells him that this is a new challenge for her, a confidence to grabble with and he gives her freedom. She soon reappears with sweated brow, puffed lungs. His shoulders ease as she winds the white cable around her phone, still blasting out music that he can't recognise. Thirty minutes exactly. Evidence that this is a deliberate decision. He fills with pride. She is doing something. Something.

**~W~**

She is consumed, once again, by things that need to be dealt with. Her arms form barriers trying to upstage their purpose, holding too many books, bags, work. The door swings open with her foot and she darts inside, only to reappear and load up again: food to put away. Items to be assembled. Books to analyse and work to tick off a list. Her car is dismissed, as is the door as she zooms inside to complete tonight's missions. It isn't enough for him. She was too quick. He didn't see how she was. He didn't see her face enough or notice which scarf she wore. He didn't see her ring.

His eyelids, tired and dry, close down painfully and pause to seek answers. He forces them open but can only watch the cold ground, mocking him with shine and normality. His fists shape and his eyes close determinedly once more. He breathes stiffly, switches them open and he continues. To watch. Her day, her decisions, her life. Watch what he can never have.

**~W~**

Flushed cheeks from her long walk home remind him of a different time. The pain spikes up again, laboriously picking away at his resolve. She turns into the next street with accomplishment, hopping up to the pavement in her worn work shoes. A red, square bag bangs rhythmically against her back dragging down her left shoulder. She switches the books resting in the crook of her arm to the other and pulls her hand blindly to the bag clasp. He knows she won't look behind her to open it, too impatient to get home and continue her work, but her hand misses. She turns. He is there. He scurries. She freezes, listens, turning her head resolutely. Her brow dents and suddenly she picks up her pace, her bag swinging rapidly to catch up.

He doesn't watch her open the door that night.

**~W~**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

**~W~**

The cold harsh breath of winter continues to wreak power over the ground, turning the road into a shiny and proud black sea, the green shrubs stall in to death, quiet , as crisp ice lies over life: covering, reminding, silencing. Early soft light peeks through, dull, purple and blue, merging and moulding in a scene of quiet warning. He watches his breath forming dainty clouds that rise away carefree.

Surprise hitches as the door tentatively opens: She is dressed for work, red bag in place with keys in hand. He stares, as frozen as the air around him. No clouds descend from him now. She shuts the door with care, coaching her scarf around her neck twice before tidying the ends into the army jacket to zip it up tightly. She starts to move, past the car, past the small sugared grass and onto the dull grey pavement. Her hands find pockets reassuringly and she walks towards a familiar route. Reaching the small town, she continues to walk along, its life suspended until light and people coerce it into action.

Designed for people, it lies in quiet wait. A usual buzz of pushchairs, school children and students distantly sleeping will attack soon enough to create happy suburban sellers. The town has two major banks, a small supermarket and a well known book shop weaved through many independent shops and many, many cafes. The traditional shop signs maintain an advertised lifestyle, an English colour scheme of seriousness with sprinkled modern touches add to its popularity. It lies adamantly in the shadow of the city, reviewed as the place to be, the place to feel traditional, proper, the place to be treated nicely, to be greeted hello. He feels assured by the quaint appeal.

His eyes scan shop after shop, following her movement across the high street and onto longer, busier roads that lead to the city. He dips unsure of her actions at bus stops, road crossings, trying to remember the way back to her home. She walks confidently only hesitating slightly at a cash point in the dooming, residing city. She enters a Starbucks, her face blistered by the cold forty minute walk, and orders a drink. He doesn't know what she chooses. He would have known before, he should know now. He tries to guess. He has seen this in movies, complicated drinks that require barked instructions and perfected deliverance. She clutches her large red cup close to her nose, using her other hand to exit. He didn't know it would be that quick, he doesn't do these things, he doesn't move away quick enough. He stands, still.

She strides away unharmed by his presence and walks to towards a large bus stop.

He knows one thing, he has to break the ice.

**~W~**

The peaceful streets outside of her home remain trapped in their own cold when she returns that night. She too is cold, and in a rush to get inside and get warm. Her steps skip into her porch, hastily reliving the door of its locked state and dropping the two bags of books that have been fighting with her chilled palms. More work, she thinks and runs upstairs to change. She quickly shrugs out of her work blouse, noticing a red ink stain on the arm, again. Formal trousers are exchanged for soft materials and a black hoodie with long, comforting arms is welcomed instead. She turns from her bedroom switching the heating on before descending the stairs to deal with the two bags. She grimaces, picks one up and opens the living room door. A sleeping from resides on the larger sofa, blankets melted in place over the heaving body. She smiles. The fire is fighting for more presence and the television shoots shadows of importance across the darkened walls. She bends down and switches on a side lamp, removes the twelve school books from her bag onto a small table and sinks into her sofa, sighing and relishing the quiet.

**~W~**

He waits. Prepared this time. Calm. Eager. The cold air continues to highlight his breath, dancing now with the smoke from his cigarette, allowing a rare company to form. The motion steadies him. He is ready. He will talk to her today. His heart seeks normality, pushing and pumping in a way he has never known. He breathes again. He watches.

Soon enough she once again closes the door with dismissal, ready to start her day. Her sturdy heels find connection with the frost and she moves with obvious pace. He follows, unsure and unaware of how to proceed but knowing that he has no choice. He has to talk to her today. She walks on, the same route as yesterday.

His mouth begins but stalls, his tough heart drumming in an over power, ever presence. He repeats and relents. Biting his cold lips together, he breathes.

"Bella?" he blurts with eyes closed, praying that his voice works this time.

Her feet falter, knowing that no one should be out here this early, knowing that the voice is one she recognises and knowing that everything will change as soon as she turns round.

"Bell" He pauses, " Bella" He repeats.

Her body turns slowly, knowing but refusing to recognise. He notices her eyes as they fix with him, wide, heavy and seeping with cautious disbelief.

"Hi" she states eventually, timidly, trying to hide her herself, her buzzing mind and suddenly obvious heart.

His lips twitch in an automatic attempt to smile, a reaction to her acknowledgment. She is facing him. She hasn't run yet.

He wasn't prepared for this, he expected a fight, a persuasion. He pauses, desperately trying to calculate the right thing to say.

She has a life of purpose, of rich expectation and laughter; she can't relax enough to stand on the street staring and waiting, she has to do something or say something to void the silence, a reaction or anything to stop the spell.

She continues to walk, remembering the time of her bus and why she is walking, what she does, who she is.

He panics and follows dutifully.

"What are you doing here?" she asks her shadow quietly.

"I miss you" He replies after a pause, an unknown source of bravery forming the words.

She laughs gently before uttering a simple, " Me too"

They continue. Her head bowing slightly towards the ground, his staring strongly ahead.

"I needed to see you"

"What have you done?" She accuses, not waiting for the answer, and continues "Its early, it's close to Christmas...You could have waited, you could have tried another way." She scoffs. " You could have given me warning"

"I just felt" he stops, "I just felt like I needed to see you"

She doesn't respond. She continues to move, relishing the normality of the usual route.

"I wanted to say 'hi', you know? I thought that I could catch you walking to work, that we could chat and walk and no one is around..." He stalls, losing the reasons he thought he had stacked in his head.

"How do you...How do you know that I'm walking to work?" She looks at him directly. "How long have you been following me?"

"I needed to see you" he punctuates the words with plea

"Yeah, well ,here I am Edward, you see me?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "Good!" She states definitely and picks up her pace.

**~W~**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three:

**~W~**

Lacklustre skies cloud over them, jaded with the early morning mist. Lifeless colour caresses the scene awaiting once again for an advancement in people and time. The couple float through, seemingly routine. Rows of houses standing like soldiers, providing a walkway, a trust to their conversation. Her walk continues, desperately hiding unease with concentrated footsteps, contrasting with his own bounding steps. Her steps ahead of his, not quite ready to forgive him yet but unwilling to let him go.

"Bell"

"Bell. Just listen to me"

"Bells. Just let me know how you are..."

"My friends call me Isabella these days" She replies curtly.

He smiles softly at her, shaking his head at her brashness. No one addresses him like this, and he loves her for it. His nerves debate, and lesson. "Isabella?" he mocks, and laughs loudly.

Her face pulls and softens, bending into her scarf to hide her smile.

"Seriously?" he continues over pronouncing this words, "Is arh bellar"

"Yes. And I like it... so quit it"

"OK, OK... Just didn't realise how posh you were these days..." he chuckles and leaves the sentence hanging, knowing how ironic it sounds.

"Yes Mr 'Cullen'" She emphasises, "I'm the posh one!"

His body relaxes, and they begin to walk in step.

"Is it nice around here though. You are safe" He stops. " It's nice"

"Do you know that I'm safe, or think that I will be?" She questions, knowing that someone will be watching them walk right now.

"I... ugh...I. Well, you never know what will happen in the future. I always hope that you will be safe" He evades, a slow and practised reaction.

She drops the subject, as always, always preferring ignorance.

"How is the family?" She asks, titling her head into her warm hood.

He laughs, "Do you really want to know?"

"OK, how are Emmet and Rose? Or should I say Princess Rosalie?"

"Oh, he is good. The same. Lecture, lecture." He says vaguely, again.

Her suspicions rise and she breathes deeply, knowing she has to ask him. "Does...does your Grandmother know you are here?"

Mist continues to delve down and hinder life, greying and clouding over the quiet road, slowing their excitement and their conversation.

Time passes and she looks at him again.

"You're supposed to be on duty, aren't you?"

He nods a yes in response.

"Does someone, Jasper at least, know where you are?"

He nods again, losing his voice and his confidence around her, unable to hide. He knows he is acting like a guilty child, weak and diminishing. He knows he has to say something to stop her wondering mind, to ease her worry but no words form. He hasn't felt this vulnerable in a long while, and his mind flashes back to pictures of his public grief, his dead mother and his inability to speak for a very, very long time. He is a different person now. A person who thought he knew what he was doing, a person, who he thought, had clarity and purpose and vision and a life despite the chaos. He realises in that moment of silence, and in seeing her face, just how broken he has become. He knows now, right now, how he can't go back. The moment he said her name was it. He can't go back to pretending that his life is ok without her in it, and he can't pretend that he is ok with the limits any longer. His life is not ok. He is not ok. She knows this now too and he finds a brief, miniscule comfort in her inclusion. He sighs loudly. The unknown awaits him. For once he doesn't know what will happen to him, who or what will dismiss him and if, if he even has a choice to reject their plans.

"I've really done it this time" He admits to her , shyly.

She turns and looks at him, her half smile devoid of pity, only empathy for him. Her him. Her him that no one knows. Her him that holds her heart, that controls every thought, every precious memory and detains her life in limbo- unable to break free, or move on or forward together. She mirrors his defeat and realises, with certainty, that she hasn't, and never will be free of his presence. Disrupted, she looks at him carefully. She has no idea what to do with this shattered man that stands before her.

A passing car knocks her consciousness, causing her to look at him again. She notices his tired eyes now. His creased lines and purple shadows, flattened hair and rough skin. He lights a cigarette, pouting in relief at the clash of the first pull as his hand runs through his hair in reflex. It reminds her of a younger him, a lazy day sitting outside hidden from the world and innocent of its dangers. They were secure then: confident and analytical.

"Well, " She starts with renewed tone, "someone once told me that nothing could be done without hope and confidence"

He laughs, reassured by her memory, his mind also flitting back to a happier, healthier time. "They did?" he teases.

"Yes, they did" She affirms. "_They_" She continues, and pauses for effect, "also told me that eggs were vegetables..."

He giggles loudly and she relishes the sound, "Shit" he laughs, " are you ever going to forget that?"

His eyes meet hers before they both look back at their feet . He slowly, surely moves his feet forward.

**~W~**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

Noise of car engines increase in adjacent streets, lights switch on as others slowly wake and the sky shifts to a more friendly light. He pulls his hood up, sleeves down, slowing returning to his stealth state. He knows his time is up. He can't be part of the world when it wakes. Her steps also slow, her eyes begin to dart, knowing that it is too light for him now. Questions flood through her panicked mind causing her heart to beat obnoxiously and realise, too late, that she really has missed him and that she really shouldn't have turned round just twenty minutes previously. Used to rehearsal, her mind adjusts back to practicality.

" You need to go" her obvious words interrupt his rambling speech. He stops talking, wounded slightly but relents, recovers and falters his steps in agreement.

She also stops and instinctively looks around. Nothing is obvious to her but she knows he reads the street differently. There will be someone, close and armed, watching.

She has so much more to say, to ask but jagged words won't form and all she can do is raise her head, lift her eyes to meet his. They stare. He breaks with an insecure smile. Her eyes drift to the harsh ground, she needs it to stop her floating, her mind finding quick peace as she breathes out slowly.

"I can... I could... I can stick around if you want? I could be back at your house when you finish work"

His tentative words catch her heart and she smiles widely, flipping her eyes back to his and clinging on to his nervous demeanour.

"Please" she replies simply, knowing that is all she needs to say. Details are redundant in her mist of ignorance, they only make disappointment worse. She looks at him once more, noticing the sly lines of his smile, the warm tones of his cheeks and the familiar warmth in his eyes. The look only she gets. The look that she loves more than anything but the look that she refuses to think about, a quick, guilty glance is all she allows before her whole body swings around, her bag rudely knocking her back in to action.

She doesn't look back.

**~W~**

The rest of the walk becomes a blur of paranoia, watching anyone who comes near, any car that slows. She catches a few faces in her rush to get to her bus but nothing is different, no one has changed. The city is the same as it is every day. She focuses on her feet, clutching her bag strap closer and willing them to move her to complete her route. The Big Issue seller's regular call forces her to an abrupt halt. She breathes deeply. She reminds herself of her bus, her school, her class and her mentor. All must be dealt with as normal. Normal day she repeats frantically in her mind.

"You alright love?"

The words pull her gaze and she smiles softly at the seller, Davey, reassuring him that all is well.

"Well, have a good day sweetheart" He calls " New issue for ya tomorrowa, it's a good un"

"I will buy it from you tomorrow first thing" she replies with more determination than she realises and silently prays that she will be here to collect it. Clarity floors her and she realises, she wants her life, she loves the way it is. She needs to keep it and tell him and make her life what it is, hers.

**~W~**

She walks into the brightly decorated reception, signing in for the day to greet the too familiar building in which she belongs. She greets Sue and exchanges a customary moan about the cold weather, collects her post and fidgets for the classroom keys. A loud screech catches her attention and soon her day begins: attending to children to warm them up, excite them, calm them, answer them, teach them. Her mentor is pleased with her progress and cites today as a good day, praising her endless enthusiasm when she herself can't be bothered in this weather. Isabella smiles politely back, she appreciates this chance and the distraction it allows. Soon, she is signing out. Leaving marking and a meeting behind to get back to her house, her home, to him

**~W~**

She is proud of how calm she has been but now her nerves are starting to dissolve as she sits on the second bus of her journey, eager to see if he is there as promised. She is grateful , for once, that Angela is back with Ben. Her mind flits between idiotic annoyances about the way she left her room to wandering if someone is on the bus with her right now. What if it isn't his choice to stay? What if he isn't there and it isn't his fault? What if he is? What if he stays this time? She visibly shakes her head and shrugs thoughts away, ignores the looks that other passengers are no doubt giving her and stops the bus. The cool air hasn't resided and it bites at her skin unexpectedly. She pulls her scarf higher, her hands clammy despite the air. She turns to her street but avoids looking at her house yet, it won't give her any signs, he will be in her room, at the back if he is there. He will be hiding even it is appears safe.

Her usual flustered state that he has become so used to watching isn't there tonight. She slowly opens her door and slowly calls him, knowing how ridiculous it is to be scared of her own house.

He soon appears at the top of the stairs and she smiles in relief. She can tell he's been sleeping, God knows what he's been up to since August. She wants to walk to him and wrap her arms around him, she can't. She settles for busying herself, taking her shoes and coat off and fiddling with the contents of her bag, looking like she is purposeful, waiting for him to say something, anything, first.

"Good day?" He says with hesitation, hating the words as they leave his lips.

"Yep" She replies awkwardly, politely, recognising his attempt.

His hand finds his messy hair in desperation and tries to appease it. She recognises the action and relaxes involuntarily.

"food?" She asks, knowing how the suggestion will relax him too.

He laughs and descends the stairs, following her into the kitchen " You know me too well"

She starts to chop onions and after some hesitation he sits on the counter opposite, a river of conversation flows filled with cooking memories and time spent at her parents' house and his estate kitchen in their younger days. She cooks a curry, something she knows he likes and he is stunned by her memory, instantly feeling guilt that she is still tied to him after all this time.

He picks up the plates and startles her. She looks up at him in disbelief.

" I've become domesticated recently" he justifies and giggles at how odd that sounds.

She knows she shouldn't but she presses further, she can't accept this comfort. It's too tempting.

"The air force have you washing dishes?"

"Well, sort of... my new major keeps me busy... makes me cook, you know.." His visible uneasiness shocks her.

" And, you couldn't have told me this while I was cooking?"

"You seemed to be ok without me"

"What else have you learnt?" she questions slowly, wanting to know if he will trust her.

He sits and places the plates back down. He stares at the fire place pausing before he speaks.

" Trust no one"


	5. Chapter 5

**~W~**

He stays. She watches.

They fall into comfort, her feet tucked under her, his stretched out and lazing. He listens, captured by her stories of people and places that he doesn't know, and never can. She is proud. She indulges in tall tales of the pupils she teaches, of their latest project and of how hard she works, how ambitious she is. He is relieved of a worry he didn't realise he had, she is ok. He has answers to all the thoughts he held of her and his mind starts to dance. He really should leave her alone.

Time belligerently moves on catching their attention long after others have dutifully followed it. She yawns and he follows. Their conversation halting as they both giggle.

"Sorry, sorry" she smiles, "you were saying?"

"Oh, nothing, just.. erm about the technology we use, it's good. Safe" His words falter as she looks at him.

"Safe technology" she shapes "good, good"

"Well, if I'm boring you" , He exaggerates.

"Oh god no, it's just planes. You know? Planes. Engines. All that boy malarkey"

He smiles. He is pleased he doesn't have to pretend with her.

"Boy malarkey?"

"You know what I mean." She pauses "Never thought it was 'you' really"

He looks down. She continues, "I mean I know it wasn't your choice but do you really like it?"

"I absolutely hate it" he giggles, releasing the truth, for once.

"I didn't think you'd be happy. I saw you on the news, smiling away but I knew you'd be annoyed about it."

"What's done is done" he dismisses, embarrassed of his public failing.

"Yeah"

"It's like" she continues "that time when Em tried to get you to fix that tractor" She sits up excited by the memory, "do you remember?"

He laughs, shifting his head back to enjoy the moment, "I do! The oil! It just spurted everywhere. I just remember looking at it waiting for it-

"- to stop! Em was shouting and I could see it all going everywhere."

"It was not nice to put it in my hair though" She moves her toe to poke him

He shakes his head.

"I couldn't get the stench out for weeks"

"Grandmother was really annoyed about that one"

"She knew?" She paused "I always assumed she never found out..."

"Oh she always knew, you should know that by now"

Isabella nodded in sad agreement, thinking back to other less satisfying memories.

"We had some good times..." He trails of, speaking to continue the conversation, not wanting to let go of the comfort he has begun to bask in.

She looks over at him, their eyes and smiles meeting and her heart calms instantly. She feels like she can breathe, be herself. Her mind quiets, her usual driven determination lost in the reassurance of his presence. He notices. He is proud of her new life but soothed inexplicitly by her instant unravelling after only a few hours. He revels in this new peace and gives permission for his mind to wander, he wonders if she could be in his life again, if she could give it up for him. Consoling adrenaline agrees and he relishes in the kind thoughts that dreaming allows for just a few short moments. She would, could be his, maybe but others would never permit.

She sees him shrink into the sofa, obviously tiring. Isabella is also exhausted and reaches over to flick her phone on, finding its battery long finished. In sudden panic of wanting normality, she stands, finds the time, her work. She runs up the stairs and plugs her phone in sitting on her bed and suddenly questions what he will do next. What she needs to do. Her driven practicality returns and she looks towards her wardrobe, planning her outfit and tomorrows lessons.

He appears in the doorway, unsure of how to move but quietly content to watch her.

She turns and remembers and falters.

"Are you staying..." she states tentatively.

"Please" He replies simply.

She nods. He smiles.

He returns downstairs and she can hear a distant phone conversation whilst she changes into soft trousers and her favourite Vaccines T-shirt. She is sitting on her bed running fingers through her newly released waves despondently when he returns. Again, he watches. She looks at him this time. Too many words made and still unsaid, their questions hang heavy between them. They can only stare now. Her fingers still, drop to her lap. He walks towards her, carefully bending down to lace his fingers with hers. His touch feels like home. He slowly moves her fingers, softly examining them, fearful but eager to show her everything he cannot say or cannot even think yet.

He sits beside her, clasping her hand in his, stronger now.

Slowly he moves and she mirrors his action, both bodies instinctively warming towards each other until they lie beside in retired dignity, remaining joined, persistently clutching until sleep rains and they both are at rest, at last.

**~W~**


End file.
